


Shell Shock

by kuzibah



Series: Waking Dream [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuzibah/pseuds/kuzibah
Summary: Spoilers through CoE, but NOT CoE compliant. This fic is a response to CoE, a rewriting that I hope still deals with the issues raised, but in a new way. It also goes into why “it was all just a dream” isn’t always the end of the story.





	1. M'aidez

_“There's a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It's when a fighting person's nervous system has been stressed to its absolute peak and maximum. Can't take anymore input. The nervous system has either snapped or is about to snap._

_In the First World War, that condition was called Shell Shock. Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables, Shell Shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was seventy years ago._

_Then a whole generation went by and the Second World War came along and the very same combat condition was called Battle Fatigue. Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell Shock! Battle Fatigue._

_Then we had the war in Korea, 1950. Madison Avenue was riding high by that time, and the very same combat condition was called Operational Exhaustion. Hey, we’re up to eight syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase. It's totally sterile now. Operational exhaustion. Sounds like something that might happen to your car._

_Then of course, came the war in Viet Nam, which has only been over for about sixteen or seventeen years, and thanks to the lies and deceits surrounding that war, I guess it's no surprise that the very same condition was called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen! And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder._

_I'll bet you if we’d still been calling it Shell Shock, some of those Viet Nam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I'll betcha. I'll betcha.”_

_-George Carlin_

++++

Jack’s gasp was quiet, even in the still bedroom a few hours before dawn, but Ianto was suddenly as wide-awake as if a claxon had gone off. He looked over at Jack, having no trouble seeing that he was pale with a fine layer of sweat on his face now that they slept with the hall light burning and the door open. It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to wake this way these days, but Ianto still found it profoundly unsettling.

He leaned across to give Jack a reassuring kiss, and was disappointed (but not surprised) when Jack jerked away from the contact. Jack looked immediately apologetic, but Ianto noticed he didn’t try to recover the kiss, but only opened his arms instead. “Just let me hold you, Ianto,” he said.

Ianto moved into Jack’s embrace, both of them clammy where they touched. 

“Was it the same ones?” Ianto asked. “From when you were a kid?”

Ianto felt, rather than saw, Jack’s nod, and then felt one of Jack’s hands lightly stroking his hair.

“They were on Earth again,” Jack said. “The same dream. And Clem was there this time, only different. I’d done something terrible to him.” Jack scrubbed one hand over his face. “I can’t remember the details.”

“It was a dream, Jack,” Ianto said, even though that logic had stopped working a long time ago. 

“I remember the shame,” Jack said. “And the horror on his face. Horror of me.”

“Never,” Ianto said as reasonably as he could muster. “The man adores you. Even if he rebuffs all your flirting.”

That drew the smallest chuckle from Jack, which Ianto chose to regard as a moral victory. 

“Why is this happening? Why now?” Jack asked, his voice so small it made Ianto’s blood freeze in his stomach. “I’ve been at war since I was a boy. I’ve seen things that should have made me crazy long before now. But nothing for almost a year…”

“You’re not crazy,” Ianto interrupted. “It’s just... it’s catching up with you. You need a break. A holiday, maybe.” 

“Maybe…” Jack said, then abruptly sat up. “Go back to sleep,” he told Ianto. “I’m going downstairs for something to drink.”

Ianto started to push himself out of bed. “Let me,” he said. “I’ll make you some of that catnip tea Lois gave you.”

Jack put his hands back on Ianto, not quite pushing him back down. “No, go to sleep. I’ve got more sleep than I need for one night. I’ll stay right here. I’ll get a book and sit by the desk.”

_And watch me all night,_ Ianto finished in his mind. _Oh, Jack._

++++

“Was it the nightmares again?” 

Gwen and Ianto had retreated to the tiny commissary where Ianto kept the coffee and other provisions, the only space in the hub that was neither monitored by CCTV nor able to be seen by curious eyes.

“Fourth time this week,” Ianto said.

“Must be some nightmares,” Gwen said.

“I think it’s all the same one,” Ianto said. “The aliens that took Gray and killed Jack’s best friend come to Earth, and then all hell breaks loose. Jack wakes up terrified.”

“Poor Jack,” Gwen said.

“He’s worse than ever,” Ianto said, feeling oddly relieved at finally being able to express the worry he’d been feeling for weeks. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry, Ianto,” Gwen said, then added thoughtfully, “it may be time to admit we need help on this one. I’ll take care of it and let you know what I find. Give me a day, yeah?”

Ianto pulled himself together, and nodded.

Gwen squeezed out from between the shelves first, and Ianto noted ruefully that these private conversations would soon have to be put on hold, at least until after the baby was born. He grabbed a pound French roast and headed for the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later he was distributing mugs to the latest iteration of Torchwood: Cardiff. Black, two sugars in a neutral tan mug placed carefully on the mug mat woven by one of John’s daughters on his meticulously organized desk. Milk and three sugars in an oversized hand-painted mug from holiday in Morocco as far from Lois’s flying fingertips as possible, lest they need to replace another keyboard. Masala Chai in a wide-brimmed teacup (and Ianto was secretly proud of how well he’d mastered the skill of simmering the tea leaves perfectly in milk and water) on the railing of the medical bay for Rupesh. Decaf with cream accepted gratefully by Gwen. Black and strong in a hastily-cleared space on Clem’s horrifyingly cluttered work table.

“Listen, Yan, did I do something wrong?”

Ianto winced at Clem’s nickname for him, reminding himself it was meant as an endearment, but replied, “no, not that I know of.”

Clem glanced towards Jack’s office. “It’s just, the old man’s been giving me the stink-eye all morning,” he said. “I’m afraid the hammer’s about to drop, you know?”

Ianto looked towards Jack’s office, too, and saw Jack quickly avert his eyes and begin to shuffle papers on his desk. “He’s just got a lot on his mind, Clem,” Ianto soothed. “Probably has something big in the works and is trying to figure out what part you’re going to play.”

Clem grinned, pleased at the thought of a major project to attack. “Yeah, well, alright,” he said. “But why don’t you go up there and do whatever it is you do to take the edge off. He’s giving me the bloody jitters.”

Ianto sighed and headed up to Jack’s office, careful to make a bit of noise going up the stairs.

Gwen stepped over to Lois’s desk and touched her shoulder lightly. “Lois, sweetheart, I need you to do a favor for me,” she said. “I need you to look into treatment facilities for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. And keep this close to the vest, will you?”

++++

“Cream and sugar, sir,” Ianto announced. “And is there anything for the post?”

Jack looked up and smiled. “My beautiful caffeine angel,” he said, holding out both hands for the mug. 

Ianto handed it to him and stood, waiting. Jack took a large sip of the coffee and shuffled through his papers again. “Have a seat, Ianto,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on. Everybody okay down there?”

Ianto took a deep breath and perched on the edge of the chair at the end of Jack’s desk. “Things seem to be going very well, sir,” he said, then steeled himself. “Except Clem seems to have gotten the impression that he’s somehow gotten on your bad side.”

Jack looked up, startled. “No, Ianto, never,” he insisted. “He’s doing a wonderful job. I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Then you may want to do a little less staring at him,” Ianto said.

Jack frowned. “Do I do that?”

“You seem to have picked up the habit today,” Ianto hedged.

Jack slumped in his chair. “It’s these nightmares,” he said. “They’re so vivid. More real than reality. And I can’t shake them. It’s like my mind’s trying to justify them, somehow. I have these bizarre thoughts, like maybe I’m experiencing an alternate reality in my dreams.”

Ianto’s eyes widened, just a bit. “Is that possible?”

Jack smiled at him again. “Well, after a century with Torchwood, I hesitate to say something’s not possible, but no, I don’t really think that’s it.” Jack reached across the desk, and Ianto took his hand. “Just be patient with me, Ianto. This will shake itself out, eventually. I just… need something to do. It’s been too quiet.”

Ianto squeezed Jack’s hand, trying to stop it shaking by force of will. 

++++

Gwen pulled Ianto straight into the commissary the next morning. “I’ve got some news to share,” she said, nearly laughing.

“Is it about Jack?” 

Gwen paused, blinked as her train of though changed tracks. “No, but I’m working on that. Don’t you worry… Did he have nightmares again last night?”

“No. But that was because he never went to sleep,” Ianto said.

“Oh, no.”

“He says he doesn’t need to sleep,” Ianto said. “And I have seen him go without for days, but it can’t be good for him. But you. What’s your news?”

Gwen took a dramatically deep breath and smiled. “I felt the baby moving last night.”

Ianto broke into a ridiculously wide smile himself. “That’s wonderful, Gwen! Can I..?” One hand hovered above her rounded stomach.

“You can if you want, though Rhys couldn’t feel anything yet.” 

Ianto put his palm on her belly and spread his fingers, just barely touching.

“It wasn’t a large movement, he’s… or she… is still too small to kick, but it was definitely movement. A little flutter.”

“It’s amazing,” Ianto said. “I’m so happy for you, Gwen.”

Suddenly the commissary door swung open, and Gwen and Ianto looked up into Jack’s face. Ianto snatched his hand back, but Gwen laughed. “Come on in, ‘Uncle’ Jack. The more, the merrier.”

Jack was staring at Gwen’s belly, his expression unreadable.

“It’s all right,” Gwen said. “One of my mates tells me everyone will want to rub it for luck soon enough.”

Jack only gave a quick jerk of his head and closed the door.

“I should go after him,” Ianto said, squeezing past Gwen and out. 

“You do that, yeah,” Gwen said, straightening her shirt and following.

Ianto thought he did an admirable job not racing after his boss like a teenage girl, but when he got to the central room of the hub, there was Jack, carrying on asking John questions about some cases as though nothing had occurred.

“Well, I’ll just go make everyone’s drinks,” Ianto announced. Four confused pairs of eyes turned to him. Jack’s was not one of them.

++++

When Ianto brought Jack his coffee, he found Jack hunched in his chair flipping the cover of his wrist strap open and closed, distracted. Ianto didn’t see how Jack could not have heard him coming, but cleared his throat anyway.

“Just put it down,” Jack said without looking up.

Ianto did, but did not leave. After another minute of watching Jack fiddle with his wrist strap, he cleared his throat again. This time Jack looked up.

“Did you need anything else?” Ianto asked. “Is something wrong… Jack?”

Jack pursed his lips then leaned back, looking directly at Ianto. “There’s a starship passing through the solar system.”

“I’ll get the team,” Ianto said quickly. “What do you need us to do?”

“No, Ianto,” Jack said. “Just a freighter, on its way from one place to another. Happens a few times a year.”

Ianto frowned. “Not dangerous, then?”

“Not at all,” Jack said, then opened his wrist strap. “I know the species. Non-aggressive, if a bit on the dull side. Totally agreeable to taking on passengers.” He held one finger over the manipulator keypad. “I could try to signal them. See if they’d take me with them.”

Ianto’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Jack…”

Jack darted forward and caught Ianto’s hand. “Come with me. I could show you the galaxy.”

Ianto pulled back without quite pulling free, and shook his head slowly. They held that way for a long moment, then Jack released Ianto and snapped the strap shut. 

“You’re right. Crazy idea,” he said. “Forget I brought it up.”

Ianto stared at his lover for what seemed like a long time, then moved to massage Jack’s shoulders. “You seem very tense,” he said. “Maybe you ought to go downstairs and rest.”

He felt Jack go even tenser under his fingers, then begin to tremble slightly as he stole a glance towards the hatch that led to his quarters. “No, I’m fine,” Jack said. “I’ll catch up at your place tonight. I promise.”

Ianto’s hands continued to work the knots from Jack’s muscles, steady and strong, but his mind was racing. _Has Jack gone down there since Gray?_ Ianto couldn’t say for sure, but neither could he remember a specific incidence where he did. _That room is so close, so dark. Does it remind him of being buried alive?_

++++

Though Ianto slept lightly these days, he nearly shot straight up when Jack woke up that night screaming. Ianto grabbed Jack’s upper arms, shaking him and calling his name. Jack gasped, his eyes wide, and it seemed to Ianto like it took ages for him to come out of the disorientation of his nightmare.

“Euonal tay shan kedso,” he said, then turned to Ianto. Jack blinked, and Ianto saw recognition dawn in his eyes. Then he was being crushed in Jack’s embrace.

“Oh, Ianto,” Jack panted. “Oh, God. I had to… I had to…”

He trailed off, too breathless to speak, and Ianto simply hugged him back, letting him clutch at Ianto’s skin and hair. 

Finally, Jack seemed to calm, and Ianto eased him back, petting and soothing him, whispering quiet endearments that would have been unthinkable in his and Jack’s relationship a few months ago, but seemed a necessary element now. Jack put his hands over his face, and let out a shuddering breath, too close to a sob for Ianto’s comfort.

“It was my daughter, and my grandson,” Jack said, still sheltering his eyes under his fingers. “I had to kill the little boy, torture him to death, to save the Earth from those… things.”

Ianto couldn’t quite process this. “You… have a daughter?”

Jack fixed him with an angry glare. “Of course not! Don’t be an idiot!”

Ianto winced, wounded by Jack’s words. “You’ve been here a long time,” he said. “You must have been lonely. No one would blame you…”

Jack pulled him into another embrace, less fierce this time. “No, Ianto, no children,” he said gently. “Courtesy of the Time Agency. Potential for paradox is high enough, without one of us fathering our own ancestors.”

“Oh,” Ianto said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Jack said. “It’s just the dream, it was so real. It actually felt like they were my family.” He took another deep, shaking breath. “It was horrible, Ianto, horrible…”

They lay still for several minutes, until Jack’s breathing quieted, although Ianto could still feel his heart pound. 

“What you said,” Ianto said. “When you woke up. What did it mean?”

“What? What did I say?”

“I didn’t recognize the language,” Ianto said. “Something Asian, maybe. You-wa-nal… tay…”

Jack hissed in surprise, then spoke what sounded to Ianto like several sentences made up of random syllables.

“Yes,” Ianto confirmed. “What is that?”

“That’s the language I spoke growing up,” Jack said. “Fifty-first-century galactic standard. Spoken by every species in the galaxy with lips and a few without. ‘Euonal tay’ means ‘help me.’ Although it’s never sounded so lovely as with a Welsh accent.”

“I never thought… I guess I assumed you spoke English.” 

Jack chuckled. “English is long dead by my time,” he said. “But I haven’t spoken galactic standard since being sent to the 1940s. They imprinted me with the culture of that time, and English became my natural tongue.”

Ianto hesitated before asking his next question, but knew he had to. “Then why now?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Coll shuur trea tessea di naala.” He leaned close to Ianto’s ear and whispered, “that means, ‘go to sleep now, my dear one.’”

And though Ianto knew Jack was still a long way from okay, he did.

++++

The next day seemed better. Jack was affectionate as Ianto woke in the morning, and calm and focused at work. So when a routine weevil sighting came in the early evening, and Jack yelled for Gwen, Rupesh, and John to meet him at the SUV, Ianto slid into his usual role and helped Jack into his coat, handed him his guns, and went to prepare fresh clothes for their return.

An hour later he emerged from the kitchen to angry shouting, Jack and Rupesh both so infuriated that Ianto could barely make out what either was saying.

“If you want to go back to stitching up drunks at St. Helen’s, you just let me know,” Jack barked. “I’ll have you retconned and back in A&E by midnight.”

“What is the point of having a doctor if you never listen to his medical opinion?” Rupesh shot back. “Do I have the authority to make these decisions or not?”

“Not with me!” Jack said, and then silence.

“What happened?” Ianto asked, his stomach twisting. 

“Just a bit more complicated than we thought,” Gwen said. “There were witnesses; John’s giving an ‘official’ report to the police.”

“It can’t go on like this, Jack,” Rupesh fumed. “If you won’t listen to me, think of the rest of the team. You’re endangering their lives.”

Jack looked about to rip Rupesh’s head off, when Gwen stepped between them. “I think I need this seen to,” she said, and Ianto saw that her wrist was swollen and dark. Probably broken, then.

Rupesh sobered. “Of course,” he said, and led Gwen down into the medical bay. Then Jack was gone, too, up to the roof, as usual.

“Jesus,” Lois muttered. “It’s worse than Coronation Street around here.”

“Lois, monitor the media,” Ianto said. “See if we can keep a lid on this.”

“Yes, sir,” Lois replied, tucking her earpiece back into her ear.

Clem came up behind Ianto and laid one hand on his shoulder. “Give him a bit of time,” he said. “My second wife got that way, and everything was an excuse for a fight.”

“Thank you,” Ianto said drily. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Then he retreated to the kitchen. _Get a mug of coffee,_ he thought. _Go up with the excuse of keeping him warm._

++++

Ianto wasn’t sure why he checked the CCTV cameras before he went to the roof, but when he did twenty minutes later, it was deserted. “Lois? Did Jack come back down?”

“Not that I saw.”

Ianto rewound the recording, and felt the blood drain from his face. “Shit,” he said, then moved as quickly as he could without actually running to the lift and out to the Plass. 

Jack was just coming to when Ianto reached him. “Jack! What the fuck were you doing?” he shouted, hearing the hysterical note in his voice and just not caring. 

“I can’t stand this anymore!” Jack shouted back. “I can’t lead this team if I’m afraid to run into tunnels!”

Ianto knelt beside Jack, wrapping his arms around him and grateful when Jack let him. “It’s bad enough when you get killed in the line of duty,” Ianto said. “How am I supposed to bear it if you start doing it to yourself?”

Jack began to shake, and Ianto realized with dread that his strong, brave captain was crying.

“Don’t, Jack, please, don’t,” Ianto said, not loosening his hold. 

“This isn’t the first time, Ianto,” Jack confessed. “I’ve tried… so many times. I know nothing can kill me, but now, I just want to come back right.”

“You are right. You’re perfect,” Ianto insisted.

“I’m not,” Jack said. “I’m broken, and nothing will fix me.”

Ianto held Jack for a long time, rocking them both slowly back and forth. Finally he said, “Gwen and I… we’ve been looking for a way to help you. We found a place, a medical center, in Switzerland…”

Jack began laughing, a grim, dry sound. “A mental hospital, you mean. An insane asylum.”

“I’d go with you,” Ianto insisted. “We’d have a cottage of our own. It could be like a holiday. Please, Jack…”

Jack went very still, all energy suddenly gone, and he leaned limply into Ianto’s embrace. “For you, Ianto. If you think it will help, I’m willing to try.”

Ianto kissed Jack on his brow, his temple. “Thank you,” he said.


	2. Gebirghaus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Ianto go to Switzerland to get treatment for Jack's PTSD.

Gwen followed Jack and Ianto as they strode through the airport, waving her Torchwood shield at anyone who even looked at them funny. Rupesh had mended her arm perfectly with a one of the devices in the medical bay, Ianto was pleased to note. “You’ll be landing in Zurich at 1620 local time,” she was saying. “From there it’s about an hour train ride to Schwarzer Bär station, and a car will pick you up there. Your boarding passes and your train tickets are in the blue folder I gave you earlier. I’ve converted a few hundred pounds into Swiss francs, that’s in the folder, too, in a manila envelope, but you’ll have access to the Torchwood accounts if anything comes up. I’ve also put a packet of biscuits in your knapsack, in case they’re late serving tea on the plane. Have you got everything?”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Yes, mum.”

They came to a stop at the departure gate and Gwen turned her attention on Jack. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You’ve a good team, and they can handle anything that comes at them.” She flung her arms around Jack’s neck and hugged him hard. “I’ll miss you so much,” she said, her voice breaking.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Jack said. “Call us if you need us for anything. I mean that.”

Gwen let him go, tears coming to her eyes, then gave Ianto the same crushing hug. “You take care of him. Do you hear me, Ianto Jones? And take care of yourself, too.” 

“I will,” Ianto assured her. “I’ll call when we arrive, and with regular updates.”

Gwen stepped back. “See that you do,” she said firmly. “I’m hormonal and I have access to weapons. There’s no telling what I’ll do.”

Ianto chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Jack drew himself up and saluted sharply. “I hereby turn over command to you, Gwen Cooper. At least until I get back.”

“I hope it’s soon,” she said. “Now go on, before I start crying like a ninny.”

And Jack and Ianto turned, and walked up the passageway to the plane.

++++

They spent most of the trip in silence, neither having slept well the night before, and the stress of the travel completely exhausting them. Ianto did manage to doze a bit on the train; Gwen had booked them a private car, and Jack had made Ianto lie with his head in his lap, and stroked Ianto’s hair till he fell into a fitful sleep. 

But Jack must have nodded off, too, and they both woke with Jack’s terrified gasp just as the train emerged from an underpass.

“It must have been the sudden darkness,” Ianto soothed, sitting up and taking Jack’s hands. “That’s all.”

“I saw John,” Jack said, then clarified, “Frobisher,” to indicate their new team member. “He put a bullet in the head of each of his little girls.”

“Oh, Jack,” Ianto said, trying to maneuver himself to put his arms around Jack. “John would never… he dotes on his children.”

“But to save them, from the aliens,” Jack said. “A fate worse than death.”

And Ianto had no response for that.

++++

It was twilight when the car finally pulled into Gebirgshaus Institut. Ianto had been impressed with the landscape around the facility: green, rolling hills, crystal mountain streams, pristine, snow-capped mountains in the distance. He was glad he hadn’t been lying to Jack about it being like a holiday. 

The center’s director, Gilda Rosenblum, was waiting for them in the driveway. She was middle-aged, plump, but pleasantly so, like a favorite aunt. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a loose bun, and she wore a long patterned skirt topped with a knitted shawl. “Welcome to Gebirgshaus. I hope that your trip was pleasant,” she called, her English almost flawless, but with just enough of a continental spin on the vowels to make it interesting.

“Yes, very much so,” Ianto said, removing their bags from the back of the car. 

Dr Rosenblum informed them that their cottage was only a short walk away, and she would give them a tour along the way. “I have reviewed your case with Dr Martha Jones, of UNIT,” she said in between pointing out the offices, dining room, library, and recreation areas. “I must say, you are a singularly remarkable man, Captain Harkness. I am glad, however, to have your background confirmed by such an impeccable authority, otherwise I would probably have been recommending treatment for delusionary psychosis after our first session.”

“You never know,” Jack said. “You still might.” 

They all shared a chuckle, tinged with a bit of bitterness on Jack’s part, Ianto thought, before exiting the rear of the main facility building into an open meadow. The meadow was ringed with cottages, each painted a different pastel shade. 

“We only have a few clients at the moment,” Dr Rosenblum said, “so I’ve given you the closest cottage.” She led them across the grass to one in pale turquoise, like a robin’s egg. “There’s a kitchen with provisions if you’d like to cook for yourselves,” she told them. “You’ve missed the main dinner service, I’m afraid, but the dining staff can prepare you a light supper until 9 p.m.”

“This should be fine,” Jack said. 

“I will bid you goodnight, then,” Dr Rosenblum said. “And Captain Harkness? Our first session is tomorrow at 10 a.m. in my office. You may bring Mr Jones if you like.” And with a slight incline of her head, she turned and left the two men standing on the cottage porch.

“This is rather lovely,” Ianto said cheerfully, opening the front door and switching on the lights. Inside, the cottage was neatly furnished with modern amenities. Ianto went immediately to the kitchen to check the stores while Jack carried their bags to the bedroom. He took down a tin of tea, sniffed it and was pleased to discover it seemed fresh, then found the kettle and put water on to boil. 

“Jack, could you bring me the biscuits Gwen sent with us?” he called. He went through the cabinets, retrieved two teacups and found the sugar. Still no Jack.

Ianto crossed the small sitting room to the bedroom to find Jack staring out the window. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Spectacular view, isn’t it,” he said. “The moonlight on the snow…”

“This is laminated glass,” Jack said sharply.

Ianto frowned. “What?”

Jack rapped at the window with his knuckles. “Laminated glass,” he repeated. “Won’t shatter. So I don’t use it to cut my wrists. There aren’t any knives in the kitchen, either, I’d guess. And the drinking glasses? All plastic?”

Yes, Ianto had noticed that.

Jack gestured at the room. “No rod in the closet, breakaway shower head. A very pretty mental ward I’ve gotten locked in.”

“You’re not locked in,” Ianto said. “You can leave whenever you like. And… I’m here with you.” _Please let that be a good thing._

Jack crossed his arms and turned back to look out the window. Ianto slipped in behind him and wound his arms around Jack’s waist. After a moment, Jack leaned his head back against Ianto’s shoulder. They stood that way until the kettle began to whistle.

++++

Ianto took it upon himself to do the cooking, reasoning that Jack should concentrate on his recovery and, after all, it was his job. He was also amused and pleased to find that the biscuits weren’t the only treat Gwen had sent with them, but that three pounds of vacuum-sealed coffee and half-a-dozen Curly Wurly bars had also made the trip. He brewed a pot of the coffee, and made a plate of toast and jam, then he and Jack sat on the back porch of their cottage in companionable silence to breakfast.

Ianto had decided to forgo his usual suits in favor of more comfortable trousers and a cotton jersey, and was glad when Jack noted it was a good look on him. They arrived at Dr Rosenblum’s office at five minutes to ten. 

She invited them in; her office was comfortable and inviting, more like a living room than a clinical setting, with muted sofa and chairs and a fish tank bubbling in the corner. 

“Please come in,” she said. “Have a seat. May I offer you some coffee?”

Jack smirked at Ianto. “Already had some,” he said, sprawling onto the couch. Ianto sat stiffly beside him. Dr Rosenblum picked up a pad and pencil and sat in a chair opposite. 

“Let me start with a few questions for you,” she began. “First, are you comfortable with me calling you by your first names? You may, of course, call me Gilda, if you wish.”

Jack grinned. “Okay, Gilda,” he said. “I’m Jack, and this is Ianto.”

“And is it alright with you, Jack, if Ianto sits in on these sessions with us?”

Jack gave Ianto a fond look. “I’d prefer it, actually.”

Gilda nodded and made a note on her pad. “Let me assure you, though, that if there is ever a time when you’d like to discuss something you would rather he not hear, we could talk in private. I’m sorry for that, Ianto, but these sessions really are for Jack’s benefit.”

“No offence taken,” Ianto said.

Gilda poised her pencil above her pad. “Let’s start at the beginning, then, shall we? Where were you born, Jack?”

++++

Jack talked for three hours, frequently interrupted by Gilda’s questions and requests for clarification. Although Jack had been more open about his past once Gray’s appearance in Cardiff stripped away any pretense of mystery for Jack, Ianto was surprised how much he learned. 

For instance, apparently the Boeshane Peninsula was not part of a landmass on the planet of Jack’s birth, but instead referred to an elongated branch of approximately 400 star systems in the northern spiral arm of the galaxy. It was also considered a provincial and somewhat backward part of civilization, the Yorkshire of the Milky Way. 

Jack talked about his parents, and the larger compound family that he lived with in his village: the dozens of children, some half-siblings to Jack and Gray, his only full-sibling and only other offspring of his mother, and the casual pairings and groupings of adults that shifted and flowed with the seasons.

Ianto sat quietly, not interrupting, not even moving, trying to be a fly on the wall, but when Jack spoke of Gray, he reached for Ianto’s hand. When he began to describe the alien attack on his idyllic home, and letting his brother go to be snatched by “worst possible creatures imaginable,” he squeezed Ianto’s hand so hard Ianto felt the joints grind.

Then he told of coming home, of finding his father dead and his mother hysterical and accusing, and Jack’s voice grew so quiet, even Ianto strained to hear him. Then he took a deep breath and said, “and that’s when I started thinking about a military career.”

“I think that’s where we’ll pick up tomorrow,” Gilda said, looking up. “This has been a very good start, Jack. There are just a few things I would like you to do. First, I would like you and Ianto to have supper tonight in the dining room here at the main building. It is better, we’ve found, if you meet other people, and don’t become too isolated.”

“We can do that,” Ianto agreed. 

Gilda looked thoughtful. “You’ve been having bad dreams, Jack. These are a primary symptom of PTSD, particularly if they relate to past trauma, but I’m sure you knew that. I want you to write down these dreams in as much detail as you can recall. Ianto, are you ever awoken during these episodes?”

“Sometimes,” Ianto hedged, with a sidelong glance at Jack.

“If you are, I want you to assist Jack in recalling as much as he can. Ask questions about what specifically happened in the dream. Don’t try to interpret, or say the dreams are not real or important. Simply gather detail.”

Ianto felt a sudden flash of embarrassment for doing the exact opposite all these weeks, but said, “I can do that.”

“And Jack,” Gilda went on. “I know this has provoked a lot of anxiety for you, but I need you to be able to speak freely, to me and to Ianto, without being inhibited by your own mental unrest. So I am going to have you stop at the dispensary each day at lunchtime for a small dose of Lexapro. This is only to reduce the anxiety enough for you to talk about it. That is where the real work will be done. I will call down now, and you can pick up your first dose before lunch. Would that be all right?”

Ianto looked over at Jack, saw that his face had been set into a studied calm that Ianto knew had nothing to do with his real emotions. Jack gave the doctor a curt nod. 

++++

A few minutes later, in the hallway, Jack turned to Ianto, suddenly furious. “Drugs?! You’re drugging me?!” he hissed, close to Ianto’s face. “Why don’t you just drill holes in my skull? Tie me in a straitjacket?”

“Jack, calm down,” Ianto said, trying to take Jack’s arm, only to have Jack jerk away.

“If I wanted to be tranquilized into a stupor, I could have done it myself months ago!”

“It’s not like that,” Ianto said, trying to keep his voice even. “They’re SSRIs. They don’t put anything in your system that isn’t already there, they just slow down how your body processes it. And it’s just so Dr Rosenblum… Gilda can treat you.”

“What makes you such a damned expert?”

“Lisa took them.”

Jack stopped his agitated pacing and stared at Ianto. 

“Work, in London, it was becoming too stressful,” Ianto explained. “The Torchwood staff psychiatrist prescribed Prozac first, then Celexa later. It helped her calm down, focus. I read up on them; I was worried about her. But they helped.” Ianto lowered his eyes. “Actually, probably not the best example,” he said. 

Jack studied him for a moment, then said, “what’s your opinion in this case, Dr Jones? Do you think they’ll help me?”

Ianto looked up, reached for Jack again and nearly cried with relief when Jack let him lay his hand on his arm. “Yes, in this case I think they’ll help you,” he said. 

Jack licked his lips, all he was willing to show of nerves. “Then I’ll try it,” he said. “But I’m trusting you, Ianto. If it looks like my personality is affected, I want you to stop me taking them right away.”

“I promise,” Ianto said. “You’re my priority.”

++++

Ianto wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the Gebirgshaus dining room, but it certainly wasn’t fine china and Waterford crystal and Frette table linens. They were shown to a table where two women who appeared to be in their mid-thirties were studying the evening’s menu. Jack held out one hand and gave them his most stunning smile.

“Ladies, good evening. Captain Jack Harkness. And this is Ianto Jones.”

“Good evening,” Ianto said.

The woman on the right cast an anxious glance at her companion, who did not look up, then gave Jack and Ianto a wan smile. “I’m Carina Bjornsenn,” she said. “This is my wife, Birgit Gudrun.”

The other woman looked up sharply. “Lieutenant Gudrun,” she said, her voice rough, then she looked at Carina, sighed, and added quietly, “call me Gitta.”

“I haven’t seen you here,” Carina said. “Did you just arrive?”

“Yes, last night,” Ianto said. “From Wales.”

“We’ve been here about four weeks,” Carina said. “From Sweden. But Captain, you are not European..?”

“It’s Jack. And no. But I’ve been living in the UK… for awhile.”

A waiter approached the table. “Good evening ladies, gentlemen. May I take your drink orders?”

++++

Ianto and Carina did most of the talking, and though no details about what brought them to Gebirgshaus were offered, Ianto was able to gather that Gitta had been serving in Afghanistan until recently, and that shortly after her return Carina had taken an indefinite leave from her high-placed position with Skanska to bring Gitta to Switzerland. 

Jack and Gitta kept giving one another looks throughout dinner, as though they were assessing each other, and Ianto was sure he was giving Jack the same worried glances that Carina was giving her partner. 

At one point, Ianto was able to survey the other tables. There were maybe eight couples total, and none were seated alone. A few were obvious survivors of some horrific tragedy; their bodies bore obvious scars. Others wore their injuries more privately, in hooded eyes and wary movements. 

_Jack is better at hiding,_ Ianto thought. _But that might just be worse._

++++

Jack woke up screaming, and Ianto hit the floor, collided with a night table, tripped over his own feet, and collapsed in the doorway of the bathroom before remembering where he was. And then Jack was calling his name, frantic. Ianto ignored his pain (it was mostly wounded pride, anyway) and stumbled back into the bed. 

“I’m here, Jack. I’m here.” 

Jack grabbed his arms hard; Ianto was sure there’d be bruises in the morning. “Ianto, Ianto,” Jack said over and over, chanting as he put his hands on every part of Ianto’s body, assuring himself Ianto was whole and safe. He put his arm around Ianto’s shoulders and pulled him close, cradling him. Jack’s other hand hovered over Ianto’s heart, fluttering, barely touching, and only then did his voice grow quiet. 

“What was it?” Ianto said. “What did you dream?”

Jack gave a small, sad laugh. “It started so well,” he said. “I was a con-man again. A thief. And you and Gwen were with me. And Rhys, for some reason. We were lifting credit cards, laptops, mobile phones. I stole this hot sports car and picked you up and we raced off. You were wearing that silver number that I like.”

“I sound like a Bond girl,” Ianto said, and Jack’s chuckle was real, this time.

“Then they were there again,” Jack said soberly. “In this tank filled with that stinking gas they call atmosphere. I remember that choking stench seeping into my cell when I was their prisoner. I told them to go, I told them I’d kill them, and then, and then…” 

“Jack…”

“They killed you, Ianto. Released a contagion into the air, and you died. In my arms. We both died.”

Ianto ached to reassure Jack, to tell him it wasn’t real, but instead he said, “what else?”

Jack’s hand was on Ianto’s heart again, his fingers drumming lightly. “You told me… you told…”

Ianto felt his heart nearly stop, knowing what was coming, but Jack did not continue. Ianto eased him down so they could lay alongside one another, Jack still needing to feel his heartbeat. “I should write this down,” Ianto said after a moment. “For your session.”

“Fuck the session,” Jack murmured, and Ianto could not think of a single argument against that idea.

++++

The next morning, Gilda immediately asked if Jack had experienced any troubling dreams. He shot a glance at Ianto, and Ianto took his hands. 

“It’s all right if you need Ianto to reassure you,” Gilda said. “That’s what he’s here for. We cannot begin to analyze these dreams and what they mean for you until you feel safe enough to discuss them freely. That is why all of our clients here have spouses or siblings for support.”

“I thought a magician wasn’t supposed to reveal the trick,” Jack said.

“What I am doing is not a trick,” Gilda said. “There will be no magical cure. But we are rational creatures, Jack. We have explored the depths of the oceans and the tops of mountains. You lived in an age when time itself was simply another place to be explored. Our own minds are simply one more unknown area to discover. Now, tell me about your dream.”

Jack did, but when he couldn’t quite bring himself to again describe Ianto dying, Ianto filled in the gaps. 

“And then I…” Ianto was about to conclude, when he realized Jack had never actually said the words aloud. The old insecurity uncoiled in Ianto’s stomach; he and Jack were not the type to ever speak the words aloud, but Ianto was sure Jack somehow knew, just as he hoped Jack loved him. But here, in front of another, he wasn’t so sure. 

“He asked me to remember him,” Jack said quietly. “For a thousand years, for as long as I lived.”

Ianto shivered. Not what he thought, then. 

“And… that he loved me.”

Ianto let out a breath. “I do,” he whispered. 

He felt Jack give a start behind him, and turned around to face him, taking his hands again. “I do,” he repeated. 

Jack closed his eyes, looking as though he was feeling a deep ache ease, and raised Ianto’s hands to his lips. “I don’t know if I can,” he said. “But I will give you what I’m capable of.”

Ianto nodded. “I’ll take it.”

++++

The session was as long as the previous day’s and Jack described how he volunteered for the human armed forces against the alien invaders, one of only a few recruits from his part of the system, which was known for its pacifist philosophy. At first Jack, still a youth, had imagined he might find Gray and rescue him, but when the impossibility of that task began to dawn on him, he began to thirst for revenge. His boldness in battle and tenacity in destroying the enemy distinguished him in the eyes of his superiors, and Jack began to set his sights on the Time Agency, sending his first application when barely out of his teens.

Jack became famous, his feats exploited to drive recruitment in the colonial systems, including the Boeshane Peninsula. Another boy from his village volunteered and was assigned to Jack’s unit. Jack trained him as his co-pilot, and the two soon racked up an impressive number of kills.

Then Jack and his friend were captured, shot down and transported to an enemy ship. 

“We were kept in a glass cell, like a terrarium,” Jack told them. “The air they breathed was so poisonous you couldn’t even see through it. We would only catch glimpses of them through the fog. Everything about them disgusted me, but for my friend…” Here Jack paused for a long time, appearing to think something through.

“He had a name,” Jack said at last. “It was Riada… Riada. I was able to stay strong, but Riada was terrified. When the aliens passed by our cell, they would pound on it, or… spit this green goo on the walls. Then they decided it was time to interrogate us.”

Ianto felt Jack begin to squeeze his hands again. “I was stronger,” Jack said. “They knew I’d die before I told them anything. Riada was ready to talk, but they didn’t question him. They knew he’d have said whatever they wanted, just to make it stop. But they tortured him anyway, and made me watch.” 

“Oh, Jack,” Ianto said, squeezing Jack’s hands back.

“I never talked,” Jack declared. “Even though Riada begged me to. I kept thinking about Gray, and all the other children they took. One out of every ten were taken from the Boeshane Peninsula. I looked into his eyes as they caused him unimaginable pain, saw the betrayal. I watched him come to hate me.”

A tear rolled down Jack’s cheek, and Ianto saw shame in his eyes. “And then they killed him,” Jack said. “He died cursing me.” Jack swallowed hard, and didn’t speak again for several moments as he wiped the tears from his eyes. 

“I was rescued two hours later by my own unit,” Jack continued at last. “Two fucking hours. I got right back into a fighter craft, still wearing the clothes I’d been captured in, and flew right down the throat of one of their cruisers. Launched a bomb into its belly; destroyed it with one shot. They called me a hero. Riada’s blood on my hands and I was the hero of the Battle of Boeshane.”

Ianto felt his own eyes fill with tears, too. He kissed Jack’s fingertips, offering what comfort he could. 

“Right after that, I was accepted to begin training at the Time Agency,” Jack said, and Gilda called an end to the day’s session. 

Jack marched straight to the dispensary for his daily dose, not looking at Ianto as he went. He accepted the pill and swallowed it dry, then ambled onto the building’s front porch. Ianto trailed behind, trying to gauge Jack’s mood. 

“I need get out for a bit,” Jack announced. “I’m going to walk down to the town for a few hours.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ianto said. 

Jack turned to look at Ianto. “I don’t have a roof here,” he said.

Ianto nodded. “Could you get some crisps while you’re there.”

++++

Ianto met another man about his age on his way back to the cottage. He introduced himself as Evan, and told Ianto his wife was napping.

“She doesn’t sleep much at night,” Evan said apologetically. “But then, that’s why she’s here, isn’t it?” And he and Ianto shared a conspiratorial smile. “You here with your wife, too?”

“No, my… partner,” Ianto said. 

“Oh, I saw you earlier,” Evan said. “Sorry. Tall fellow, long coat. Military?”

“Yes.”

“Was it Iraq?” Evan asked. “We’ve had a few of those. And the girl from Sweden. It was Afghanistan for her. Poor bloke awhile back who was a refugee from Darfur. War must be like hell on earth.”

“Yes,” Ianto agreed, letting Evan make his own assumptions.

“My wife, Annalise, she was at the market during the Christmas Star attack,” Evan went on. “Her sister was shot dead right in front of her.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks for that. All I can say is thank God we found this place. I don’t know if Annalise would have made it.”

_And that’s Jack’s tragedy,_ Ianto thought. _He always makes it._


	3. Temporale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's treatment continues. There are complications.

Ianto looked up from where he was reading on the cottage’s porch ( _not_ waiting for Jack) to see Jack crossing the meadow carrying a grocery sack in one arm. Jack waved, and Ianto waved back, and then Jack was handing him a large bag of crisps and going through into the kitchen.

“What did you get?” Ianto called.

“Gin, vermouth, and a jar of olives,” was Jack’s reply, and Ianto heard him going through the cabinets. A minute later he exited with two low plastic tumblers. He handed one to Ianto.

“Sorry about the glasses,” he said. “I couldn’t find a housewares shop.”

“These will do,” Ianto said, taking a sip of the martini. Jack sat on the chair beside him and leaned back, taking a sip of his own.

“Nothing like a well-mixed martini on a summer afternoon,” Jack said. “But I hope this is the second best thing.”

“It’s lovely,” Ianto assured him, and they drank and watched the sun sink below the mountaintops until it was time for supper.

++++

Gwen phoned the next morning while they were eating breakfast. “Hi, hope I’m not calling too early,” she said cheerily.

“Not at all,” Ianto said. “Let me put you on speaker.”

“Gwen, how are you holding down the fort?” Jack said. “Everyone behaving themselves?”

“Going well. Continued quiet, thank God. But how are you? You sound good.”

Jack hesitated a moment, glancing at Ianto. “I am,” he said. “They know what they’re doing here. I should be home soon.”

“I hope so. I miss you both terribly.”

“I miss you, too,” Jack said sincerely. “I can’t wait to come back.”

“How are you?” Ianto said. “How’s the baby? Ready to start for Cardiff City yet?”

“Oh, I’m feeling more movement, now, but no field goals yet.”

“How’s Lois?” Jack said. “How’s she adjusting to the new programs?”

Gwen gave a full report on each team member, answering Jack’s increasingly specific questions, and then with well-wishes rang off. 

Jack leaned forward in his chair, hands folded and fingers to his lips. “You okay?” Ianto asked.

“I should be there,” Jack said. “I should be there watching out for them.”

“They’re doing fine,” Ianto said. “Gwen said they haven’t had anything drop through the rift in days.”

“But what if that only means something big is coming?” Jack said. “Gearing up for a major attack.”

“You know the Rift doesn’t work that way,” Ianto said. “And anyway, the new rift monitors Clem has been working on give much more advance warning.”

Jack shook his head. “But he’s still untried. They all are.”

“They’re not,” Ianto insisted. “You’ve recruited one of the strongest teams Torchwood: Cardiff has ever had. They can handle it.”

Jack abruptly stood, and pointed angrily at Ianto. “You don’t know anything about Torchwood. I was there, and I’ve seen better men and women than you can imagine get destroyed by the Rift.” Jack kicked his chair back and stomped out onto the front porch. Ianto sighed and went after him.

“Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“No, stop,” Jack said, actually raising one hand. “It’s okay. We do have a good team. But I still can’t stand not being there. I just…” He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. “I feel like if I’m not there…”

Ianto pulled Jack into a hug, letting Jack put his head on Ianto’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “But it’s not good for you. You’re only one man, Jack. You may not die, but you can suffer.”

And Jack began to shake in Ianto’s arms. Ianto held him tight, trying to be strong.

++++

They were late to that day’s session, and did not speak to Gilda, only entered her office, took their usual spots on the sofa, and kept their arms around one another. Gilda regarded them silently for several moments.

“I take it you did not have a good morning,” she said, and Jack gave a bitter bark of laughter.

“Do you think?”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said wearily. “I got a phone call from Cardiff, and things are going perfectly well there. I have no reason to believe otherwise, and I know, I _know_ Gwen is more than capable. But I just, I just… I’m afraid that if I’m not there…”

“This is not like him,” Ianto explained. “Jack doesn’t… act like this.”

Gilda leaned back on her desk and regarded the two men. “What’s different now?” she said. “Why is this situation unlike those in the past?”

Jack shook his head, and Ianto ached to see the confusion on his face. Gilda gave a knowing nod.

“Why don’t we skip the session today,” she said. “We’ll start again tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, and nearly fled the room, Ianto trailing behind.

++++

Afterwards, Ianto could not get Jack to calm down. Jack paced until Ianto was worn out just watching him, refused to go to dinner, and then did not go to bed that night. Ianto all but begged him to at least lie down, but finally was forced by his own exhaustion into sleep. 

Sometime in the night Ianto half awoke to feel Jack slip in beside him, and drape one arm over Ianto’s waist. He felt Jack kiss him very gently, on the back of his neck, along the hairline. Ianto sighed and arched back, and Jack clutched him tighter.

++++

The next morning’s session proceeded as if the previous day had not occurred, and that was fine, as far as Ianto was concerned. Jack warmed to the subject of his days in the Time Agency, and Ianto began to feel as if he should be the one taking notes. Jack told them far more about John Hart than Ianto would have liked, though it was clear Jack and John had once been extremely close. Jack described the imprinting process for agents, where knowledge of the local language and culture was “downloaded” into their brains. He told them about previous assignments on planets and in times more fantastic than Ianto had imagined. 

“Then, something happened,” Jack said. “I don’t know what. They made sure I didn’t know what.”

“Retcon,” Ianto guessed.

“Yeah, but this was Time Agency Retcon,” Jack said. “What we use is only the best approximation I could develop. The stuff from my day? Nuclear-grade. Not only removes what you did, it removes all memory of even wanting to do it. Anyway, I lost two years. I was imprinted with a 1940s military persona and sent to Earth. It was a plum assignment, actually. Earth being the human homeworld, every human in the Agency wanted to get there. 

“But I couldn’t get past what the Agency had done to me, to my memories. I abandoned my assignment and started working long cons. Figured if I made enough money I could strike out on my own. Find out what had happened to me. Then I met the Doctor.”

Ianto felt his heart give a mighty thump. The Doctor. And that was where all of Jack’s problems had started. 

Gilda apparently felt the same way, and ended the session for the day.

++++

It was surprising how quickly extraordinary things became routine, Ianto thought as he washed up after breakfast. He and Jack had been at Gebirgshaus almost a month now, and their lives had settled into a predictable schedule:

Sessions with Gilda in the morning, although she had reduced them to about an hour now and had begun to give them “days off.” Jack had taken most of that time just telling his life story, then Gilda had gone back to ask questions and have Jack elaborate on events mentioned in passing. 

Jack continued to take the Lexapro, though he and Ianto had engaged in shouting matches on the two occasions when Gilda had increased the dosage. Their worst fight had been a week ago, when Gilda asked Jack to participate in an afternoon group session. Jack had refused, claiming his situation was unique. Ianto couldn’t argue that, but when he tried to get Jack to relent, Jack had become so angry that he left to walk off steam for over three hours. Jack had won that argument, and did not attend the group.

Other patients had come and gone. Annalise and Evan had left ten days ago, and Carina and Gitta soon after. Two different officers from UNIT had come in, scarred by things they’d seen, and a German farmer whose home and farm had been leveled by Daleks during the teleportation of the Earth the preceding year had moved into the cottage next door with his sister. 

Gwen called every two or three days, always reassuring them that things were being dealt with, and there were no major issues at any rate. She’d also sent them four parcels with biscuits and candy bars and packets of coffee. Ianto imagined the future Williams child or children would suffer frequent tummy aches, if this was any indication.

And every night that Jack yielded to sleep, he woke up screaming.

Ianto had started keeping track of the dreams, even if Jack did refuse to discuss them in session. Ianto dying, John Frobisher killing his family, and Jack having to kill his fictional grandson were recurring themes, although Jack being isolated and denounced by those he loved also played heavily. And the aliens, the nameless, faceless creatures that had destroyed Gray, killed Riada, and lain waste to Jack’s homeworld. Always the aliens at the heart of Jack’s night terrors.

_He isn’t getting better,_ Ianto thought. _He’s actually getting worse._

++++

It was a hot night, close and still—a rarity for Gebirgshaus, where a pleasant breeze down from the mountains was the norm. Jack, also untypically, had gone right to sleep, splayed across the bed without even a sheet over him. It was Ianto who was restless. Damn it, he was Welsh, he thought. He wasn’t made for hot, humid nights.

Still, Jack seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Perhaps this was more like the climate he grew up in, Ianto speculated. He’d described a dry, sandy place near the sea. Maybe he was dreaming of happier days on Boeshane.

In the distance, thunder rumbled, and Ianto twitched aside the curtain over the window at the head of their bed. He could see the uneven flashes of cloud-to-cloud lightning to the west. The storms had surprised him. Gebirgshaus seemed so idyllic, yet there were summer thunderstorms a few times a week. 

Gilda had explained that it was a weather pattern particular to this region of Europe. “Meteorologists are doing research throughout Switzerland and Southern Germany to try to determine why our storms are so frequent and violent,” she’d told them.

They seemed a fitting metaphor for Jack’s emotions, Ianto thought. Sudden, unpredictable, fierce, and then gone, as if they’d never been.

_Oh, God, I’m actually waxing poetic about Jack’s mood,_ he thought. _Maybe I need a few sessions of my own._

No sooner had he thought this when the sky above him seemed to erupt. There was a flash of lightning as bright as daylight, and a crash of thunder like a train wreck. Then the skies opened and poured down hail. It was so quick, it took Ianto a moment to realize Jack had leapt from their bed.

He heard the front screen door slam, and then Ianto was up himself, pulling the bed sheet around his waist as he headed for the front door.

“Jack! Jack! Wake up! Stop!” he called, then braced himself to run into the storm.

Jack had stopped dead right at the top of the wooden stairs that led down to the meadow. He held his hands out in front of him, trying ineffectively to hold back the rain and hail that lashed his naked body. 

Ianto grabbed him, throwing the bed sheet around them both, and pulled Jack back and down against the wall where they were better sheltered by the porch roof.

“Jack? Are you okay?” Ianto asked, though he saw no recognition on Jack’s face. 

“Jabotna nee nay corhuso,” Jack cried, his voice high-pitched and manic. “Euonal tay! Euonal tay!”

“You’re safe, Jack,” Ianto shouted at him over the storm. “I’ve got you.”

Jack blinked, and Ianto saw him return to the here and now. “Ia… Ianto,” he whispered. Then he fell into Ianto’s lap and sobbed.

++++

Somehow Ianto got them back inside, got Jack cleaned and dried and wrapped in a dry sheet, lying on the bed. Jack said nothing more, only stared straight up at the ceiling, his eyes unmoving until the storm had resolved into the quiet patter of rain.

“I was blown into pieces,” Jack began, so quietly that Ianto got up from the chair so he could hear his voice. “It was the Major from the special forces division we worked with last February.”

“The hot lesbian?” Ianto asked, repeating the description Clem had coined and the rest of them had adopted, with varying degrees of irony.

“Yes. She shot me and Rupesh, then used a laser scalpel to put a bomb inside my body. I carried it inside the Hub, and it exploded. It destroyed the Hub and blew me apart.”

Ianto felt his skin crawl. “Would that kill you for good?”

“Not even close,” Jack said. “I’ve stood at ground zero for an atomic bomb test and popped back whole. But in the dream, I was in pieces. Part of my head, part of an arm. I grew back slowly, in horrifying pain, and then, when I was restored, she sealed me inside a block of concrete. I was crushed and smothered, buried alive.”

Ianto felt like throwing up.

“I can’t go on like this,” Jack said, his voice breaking, and he covered his face with his hands. 

++++

At daybreak, Jack rose and dressed, and Ianto made him coffee and toast with jam, and then dressed himself.

“Will you be okay alone for about twenty minutes?” Ianto asked him, when Jack had retreated to a porch chair after breakfast.

Jack looked about to spit a sarcastic reply, but bit his tongue and nodded instead.

Ianto was waiting for Gilda when she arrived at her office. She didn’t look surprised.

“I need to know,” Ianto said. “What is your opinion of Jack’s treatment? Are you seeing any improvement?”

Gilda invited him into the office, then answered his question with one of her own. “Was there an incident last night?”

“Yes, another nightmare,” Ianto said. “He nearly ran into the storm.”

“I am concerned that he does not seem to be responding to the medication,” Gilda said. “It should be easing his anxiety in discussing these troubling incidents in his past and his nightmares, but, if anything, he seems to be more resistant. Perhaps it is his unusual biology, but I suspect the real answer lies in the two years he has missing from his memory.”

Ianto considered this. “Maybe…”

“Of course, Jack has experienced a great deal of trauma,” Gilda said, “and much of this is coming forward to be dealt with now.”

_Sealed in concrete,_ Ianto thought. _Like being buried alive for two thousand years._

“But there must have been a trigger,” Gilda continued. “Something that has opened the lock to his unconscious mind. And then, in this vulnerable state, all his fears and anxieties that he manages on a daily basis come flooding out. Normally, this would be obvious; the patient would experience the strongest flashbacks around the trigger memory, but not so with Jack.” Gilda leaned back and crossed her fingers thoughtfully. “I have sent to UNIT and your Dr Patanjali for a more thorough analysis of the ‘Retcon’ you both have spoken of. I must tell you, the pharmacology is unlike any drug I have seen, but I believe I understand the effect. The drug does not erase the time in question from the subject’s memory. Instead, it reroutes the neural pathways around the memory, and the subject subconsciously fills in the missing time with another neutral memory. A determined subject, or one with an anomalous neural structure may be able to re-access the retconned memories under the right conditions.”

“Yes, we’ve seen that,” Ianto said. 

“I believe the answer to helping Jack lies in accessing those missing memories,” Gilda said. “I have been in touch with a colleague at the University of Zurich who has suggested a controversial and, frankly, radical therapy that has shown promise in the most extreme sufferers of PTSD. I think it may be worth the attempt in Jack’s case.”

“Anything,” Ianto agreed. “We’ll try anything.”

Gilda pursed her lips. “Knowing what I know of Jack,” she said, “I expect him to refuse.”

“I’ll convince him,” Ianto said.

“You may refuse, too,” Gilda said. “But I don’t want to discuss it any further without Jack present. I will see you at your usual session, and I will present you with the documentation at that time.”

Ianto agreed, and returned to the cottage to find Jack halfway through a packet of Wagon Wheels that Gwen had sent in the last parcel. Jack gave him a guilty, chocolate-smeared grin.

++++

Ianto had planned to say nothing to Jack about his conversation with Gilda, but Jack had guessed where he’d gone, and Ianto was glad he could honestly say to Jack that he knew nothing of the details beyond “controversial new therapy.” Jack had started to argue against it on general principle, but Ianto reasonably countered that they should at least hear what it was.

The minutes to ten o’clock had never seemed so long.

Back at Gilda’s office, she repeated to Jack what she’d told Ianto, about the way the SSRIs were supposed to work and weren’t working in his case. “I believe this is because of the effects of the Retcon you were given as a young man. Because the memories cannot be excised, as you have seen yourselves, it must somehow suppress them.

“Based upon what I have seen with you, Jack, I believe the Retcon conditions the brain to associate the memories in question with anxiety, pushing them from the conscious mind. As your subconscious mind struggles to process these memories, your anxiety increases, and your dreams become more violent.”

Gilda folded her hands. “In my clients who have not experienced the debilitating effects of this Retcon, the SSRIs are eventually sufficient in reducing anxiety enough for us to deal with the disturbing memories. Not so in your case. Your emotions are being artificially heightened, beyond the reach of conventional medication.

“But there has been some promising work with another drug,” Gilda said. “They’ve found that among those most handicapped by PTSD, this drug can effect the most dramatic breakthroughs.”

Ianto looked across at Jack, who had his hands folded in his lap and his head bowed. Ianto had never seen him look so defeated. 

“I’m desperate,” Jack said quietly. “I’m ready to try anything.”

“The drug they have been using is MDMA,” Gilda said.

Ianto stared at her. “Are you mad?” he said. 

Jack looked up, confused. “What is that?”

Ianto turned to him, incredulous. “It’s Ecstasy, Jack.”

“Under controlled conditions, it will be quite safe,” Gilda said. “I can show you the documentation.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ianto said. 

“I admit, I was doubtful, myself,” Gilda said, “but after several conversations with my colleagues regarding Jack’s case, I am convinced it is worth the attempt. I will bring Dr Fehrmann here from the University to administer the drug and monitor the reaction. He has had many years of experience…”

“Seriously,” Ianto said. “Ecstasy?”

“Give me the documentation,” Jack said. “I’ll read it and get back to you.” 

Gilda handed him a sheaf of papers. “Let me know if you have any questions,” she said. “I will answer them or refer you to Dr Fehrmann.”

“I’ll do that,” Jack said, and once again Ianto was trailing him as he swept back to their cottage.

++++

Jack closed himself up in the bedroom and read for four hours, refusing to hear Ianto’s opinion on the subject until he’d read the papers, too. Ianto took the opportunity to phone Gwen and ask her to find out everything she could about a Dr Fehrmann at the University of Zurich.

When Jack finished, he dropped the papers in front of Ianto, suggested he brew a pot of really strong coffee, and excused himself to walk to the village. Ianto ignored the papers and called Gwen back. 

“Dr Albin Fehrmann,” she read to him. “Fifty-seven years old, married, two children, ages 19 and 22. Professor of Neuropharmacology, graduate of the University of Bern, a doctorate…”

“Skip the CV,” Ianto said. “What about his work with Ecstasy?”

“Started about five years ago, under strict supervision by the Swiss Ministry of Health,” Gwen said. “Seems to be highly regarded, some pretty impressive results. Of course, he’s been hampered by international drug law. Are you thinking of contacting him about Jack?”

“No, his doctor already has.”

“And you don’t approve.”

“It’s Ecstasy, Gwen. Mainly used by oversexed teenagers to facilitate orgies.”

“Just because a drug is illegal doesn’t mean there aren’t legitimate therapeutic uses,” Gwen said.

“I thought you, Gwen, of all people…”

“Me, of all people?” Gwen said. “Let me tell you what I saw whilst with the police, Ianto Jones. Pensioners who were blind or riddled with cancer being dragged in and out of court to defend their right to use a few grams of marijuana each day to ease their pain or calm their stomachs enough to eat without vomiting. That’s a far cry from some criminal trying to score his next fix, and you ought to know that. Now, Dr Rosenblum is the doctor, here. Not you. Not me. Certainly not Jack. And if he’s as bad as I think he is from the conversations these last few weeks, I’d say we need to let her do her job.”

Ianto knew when he’d been told off properly. 

“Thanks, Gwen, I needed that perspective,” he said.

“Call me and let me know what happens,” she said.

++++

Jack found Ianto still poring over the papers spread over their table when he returned near dusk. He was carrying a package under one arm.

“I talked to Gilda,” Jack said. “I told her I’d do it.”

Ianto nodded. “I can’t say I’m entirely convinced,” he said. “But if you’re willing, you have my support.”

“Anyway, we have the next week or so off,” Jack said. “She needs to contact Fehrmann and set the thing up, clear an entire day in her schedule. Plus, she wants any effect of the SSRIs to have time to wear off.”

“Understandable.” 

Jack put his package on the counter and unwrapped it. It was a small portable CD player. “It’s been too quiet here,” he said, plugging it in. “And I’ve been treating you very badly these past few weeks.”

Ianto began to protest this, but Jack pressed on.

“I want to get back to the reason we got together in the first place.” He removed a CD case from his coat pocket, cagily concealing the title, and put it in to play. 

He extended one hand gallantly to Ianto. “Dance with me?” he asked, while the cottage filled with the sound of a jazz orchestra. 

_Long ago and far away, I dreamed a dream one day_  
And now that dream is here beside me  
Long the skies were overcast but now the clouds have passed  
You're here at last 

And Ianto did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MDMA (or Ecstasy) therapy is a real treatment for extreme cases of PTSD. Although not a whole lot of work has been done due to international drug laws, there is documentation of some dramatic results among scientists experimenting with this treatment in a few centers, including the University of Zurich. Naturally, this work is controversial, but when I came across it in my research for this story, I thought it would be an interesting detail. That being said, this story should not be seen as an endorsement of illicit drug use, except under the strict supervision of a psychiatrist (possibly in Switzerland.) As far as I know, there is no real scientist working on this treatment named Dr Albin Fehrmann.


	4. Ecstasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack receives unconventional treatment, and secrets are revealed.

Jack in courting mode ( _if that’s what I call it,_ thought Ianto) was very agreeable, Ianto had to admit. Although the night was still a time of restlessness and tears, and Jack waking screaming from nightmares, he still came to Ianto in the morning with gentle caresses and kisses, and tender words. Ianto still insisted on making breakfast, but Jack accepted it with genuine gratitude and offers to do the washing up afterward. 

Without sessions or required visits to the main building, Jack spent his time taking Ianto on long walks around the Institute grounds, through the woods, along the streams, into the foothills. They went to the village where Jack bought Ianto small gifts as ‘mementoes’ of the trip, as though they actually were on holiday.

They skipped the formal Gebirgshaus dining room in favor of ramekins of Älplermagronen and steins of Feldschlösschen in the local Rathskeller. They gorged on Swiss chocolates, and watched the sunsets with a pitcher of martinis close at hand. 

And afterwards, Jack was the most passionate of lovers, and Ianto was carried on wave upon wave of pleasure, as though upon the sea. 

++++

When the day came for Jack’s treatment, they both rose early, neither having really slept the night before. Ianto was brewing coffee while the sky was still dark, and then Jack was behind him, hugging him and kissing the back of his neck.

“I’ll be okay,” Jack said. “Worse things have been done to me, and will be again, I’m sure.”

Ianto turned in Jack’s arms, took Jack’s face in his hands, and kissed him as well as he knew how. “And I’ll be there,” Ianto said. “I’ll protect you.”

They ate in silence and sat on the porch drinking coffee until the time for the treatment arrived, then began the short walk to the main building.

“You’re wearing a suit,” Jack noted.

“It makes me feel stronger,” Ianto said.

Dr Fehrmann was about what Ianto expected of a Swiss Neuropharmacologist: short and bearded, with round glasses and a habit of stroking his beard. Introductions were made, and then Gilda led them to a room neither Jack nor Ianto had been in before. Gilda described it as a therapeutic quiet room, a place for patients to withdraw if they were particularly distressed. There was low, flat bed, and low, soft chairs. The lighting was indirect, and the walls were painted a mottled blue. 

Jack was encouraged to lie on the bed, half-propped by some pillows, and Ianto sat beside him, holding his hand. 

Dr Fehrmann (who apparently eschewed Gilda’s custom of using first names) produced the tablet of Ecstasy and passed it to Jack. Ianto had been expecting one of the pills he’d seen his friends use when he’d been at school, bright pink or purple and stamped with a butterfly. But this was apparently the medicinal version, plain white with a numeric code.

“How long until this takes effect?” Jack asked.

“Thirty to sixty minutes,” Dr Fehrmann said.

Ianto pulled his stopwatch from his pocket. “Go,” Jack said, and he swallowed the pill as Ianto depressed the button.

“Perhaps you should begin by telling me about your work at the Time Agency,” Gilda said. “What was day-to-day life there like?”

“We lived in dormitories,” Jack began. “I shared a room with two others; I was the only human on my floor…”

++++

Ianto’s watch had just ticked past 38 minutes when Jack began to giggle. “Ianto,” he said, then repeated it, drawing it out. “Yaahhn-toooow. Do you know what that means in galactic standard?”

Ianto smiled and clicked his watch to stop. “I’m sure I have no idea,” he said. 

“It’s a kind of song,” Jack said, smiling at Ianto fondly. “A traditional song you sing to someone you’d like to… get to know better. A love song. No wonder you’re so full of love.”

“How are you feeling, Jack?” Gilda asked.

“So good,” Jack said. “So… happy. Like I have too many clothes on. Lie down with me, Ianto. I’ll sing a Ianto for you, if you want.”

Ianto could feel himself begin to blush. “I’ll hold you to that later,” he said.

“Jack, I want you to tell me more about the Time Agency,” Gilda said, trying to bring him back into focus. “Why did you join? What motivated you?”

Jack frowned, as though trying to remember something long forgotten, like the name of an old acquaintance. “It was Gray, always Gray,” he said. “When I couldn’t find him, when I found out they’d sent him far beyond my reach, I knew time travel was the only way to get him back.

“I couldn’t let them know that, of course. Strictly forbidden to meddle in your own timeline. Even a kid from Boeshane knew that. So I had to keep it a secret. All through my training, all through my assignments, I pretended I knew nothing about the Foreyevesyxx. Pretended they’d never invaded my homeworld.”

“The Foreyevesyxx?” Ianto repeated. “Were they the aliens?”

“No, don’t,” Jack said, sitting up and putting his fingertips on Ianto’s lips. “Their name is a sacrilege in your mouth.”

“I won’t,” Ianto said. “But you pretended.”

“I pretended,” Jack said, speaking to Ianto alone. “The beginning of my confidence career. I told them I was Boeshane, and I’d fought them, but I had no personal experience. Records were sketchy; they didn’t know about my capture, only that I fought in the battle. They didn’t know about Riada. They didn’t know I had a brother.

“I bided my time, took the assignments I was given. I worked hard, took chances that paid off. I always knew how to distinguish myself, Ianto, and soon I was proposing my own assignments. I played it cool at first, writing proposals that were intriguing, but not too unique. I sent John Hart to the Napoleonic Wars. He loved that. That’s where he picked up that coat, you know. 

“So many of my proposals were chosen. I was skilled at research, had read so much history as a boy. I knew the exciting eras, the provocative events. I had followers, devotees who advanced my proposals at the Agency and vied for assignment to them.

“Finally, I saw my chance. I’d been studying the Foreyevesyxx secretly, pinpointed the moment in their history when their species cast an eye outward, to exploitation and conquest. To one advisor, one nearly insignificant toadie to their king, who brought him his first human. His first taste of what was possible. 

“The Foreyevesyxx had long been defeated by then. The Battle of Boeshane was nearly a generation past, and their disgusting breed all rotting corpses on their world. Just long enough in the past to be intriguing to the younger agents, the ones whose mothers and fathers had fought the war.

“I proposed we go to study their culture, see what stories and lessons we could learn. By then, no one was looking at my proposals too closely; I was their golden boy, the Face of Boe. They rubber-stamped it and gave me carte-blanche to pick my team. I chose John Hart, of course. He was just crazy enough by then to go along with my plan. And then, still pretending to be the impartial scholar, I assigned myself.”

“Is this what they made you forget, Jack?” Ianto said. 

Jack seemed momentarily transfixed watching Ianto’s mouth move, then looked into his eyes again. “All of it. All of it,” he said. “They’d have made me forget Gray, if they could, but even their Retcon didn’t have that power. He was in my every cell, every neuron.”

Jack went quiet, his eyes becoming less focused as he tried to find his way back to the original thread of his story. 

“You and John,” Ianto prompted, and Jack began again.

“We went to the Foreyevesyxx homeworld, holographic disguises in place. I only allowed myself the very slightest imprinting, relying on John to be my guide in their culture. Even for Gray, I couldn’t bear having that connection with them. I outlined my plan to John en route, and he took to it with a singular enthusiasm. He understood me, Ianto. He knew what I had to do.

“We transmatted into the royal residence. I knew exactly where the advisor’s quarters were, and we went there. John and I time-locked the rooms and we went to work. We found him at his workstation. I’ve never felt hate like that. I didn’t just want him dead, I wanted him to suffer for every child his race had stolen. John and I were there for days of our time, slowly torturing him. I was very good at torture by then. It was something else I’d taken care to study. 

“He begged for mercy, and we cut his tongue. He knelt in supplication and we broke his legs. He endured the most exquisite agony we could devise until his body just gave up. And I believed he deserved every second of it.

“The Time Agency caught us, of course. The second we broke the time-lock they grabbed us. I knew I’d be punished, but it was worth it. I’d stopped the war.”

Jack lowered his eyes, his face drawn with profound shame. “Or so I thought. For a few glorious hours, it was all worth it. Then they brought us before the heads of the Agency. You see, you can’t create a paradox without them knowing. Except I didn’t.

“It wasn’t the advisor we found. The real Foreyevesyxx were much bigger than I thought, so I thought the one we found was an adult. But it wasn’t. It was a child, not half grown. We’d tortured the advisor’s offspring to death. And then, with his child gone, without a thing to live for, he pushed his world into war, so all would know his pain.

“I hadn’t stopped the war; I’d started it.”

Ianto felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks, and he took Jack’s hands, wishing for him to forget again.

“They took my memories. Everything leading up to the assignment: my research, my plans, all of it. When they were done, two whole years were gone. But they couldn’t just throw me out. I was too well-known, too admired. They needed to cover up the crime, so they gave me the most long-term, dangerous, solo assignment they could. Earth, London, 1941. The Blitz. Oh, they all wanted that assignment. The intrigue, the glory. The sexy uniforms. But it went to me. Their Superstar.”

“The dreams, Jack,” Gilda prompted. “Why are you having the dreams now?”

“I knew the universe wouldn’t let me get away with it. Time has a way of catching up with those who try to fuck it over. I took a child and destroyed a people, and time would take my family from me.”

“But you won’t have children,” Ianto said. “You said…”

“You, Ianto. All of you. Torchwood. After Alex… murdered the team and left Torchwood to me, you became my family.”

“Tosh,” Ianto said. “And Owen.” 

“And Gwen,” Jack said. “And you, beautiful Ianto. But now Gwen, she’s more than one. She’s bringing life to us, to Torchwood. And the universe won’t stand for that.”

Behind them, Dr Fehrmann spoke. “We have made a breakthrough, Dr Rosenblum. I think Captain Harkness and his companion should be left to recover now.” 

“Very good, Dr Fehrmann,” Gilda said, and Ianto heard the door close.

“Kiss me, Jack,” Ianto said, and Jack did.

“Are you going to be alright?” Ianto asked when Jack finally let him up for air.

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Right now, it hurts, but I just don’t care that much. I imagine the crash when the drugs wear off will be the test.” He went in for another kiss, and Ianto could feel this one in his toes. “We’d better not waste this,” Jack said, panting. “We need to get out of this room.”

“I agree,” Ianto said, breathless himself. 

They practically fell into the hallway, Jack plucking at the buttons on Ianto’s suit while kissing him and laughing all at the same time. “I love these suits, but they’re impossible to undo when you’re stoned. Could be a problem.”

“I’ll undress myself when we get back to the cottage,” Ianto promised. 

“I owe you a song!” Jack suddenly remembered, as they stepped into the bright meadow behind the building. “I don’t know if I can remember all the words. It’s been a really, really long time.”

“It’s not necessary,” Ianto said, trying to hurry Jack along. 

“No, I remember the beginning, at least.” And Jack began in a clear tenor voice.

The words were nonsense to Ianto’s ears, but the tune was pleasant, reminiscent of “Barbara Allen,” and Jack certainly sang with enthusiasm. When he faltered on the words he simply started over, singing and laughing as Ianto half-carried him up the cottage steps, pulled him into the bedroom, and undressed them both. They tumbled, naked and giggling, into the bed. 

“I rather like you like this,” Ianto said. “I may have to rethink my opinion on drugs.”

“You should keep an open mind about everything,” Jack said. “You don’t know what you’ll like until you try it.”

“Case in point,” Ianto murmured, rolling on top of Jack. 

“Mmm, I think I like this, too. But how will we get any work done?”

“We’re not at work now,” Ianto said, a little urgently, running his hands down Jack’s sides.

“We shouldn’t go back,” Jack said. “It’s no good for us. I’ve been fighting too long. I just want to… ahh, that’s good, right there… have you, whenever I want, and be safe, and… uhng, yes, yes, yes, yes… and we can have a garden…”

“Jack, please, you don’t have to talk right now,” Ianto said, and he covered Jack’s mouth with his own.

++++

It was the most intimate sex Ianto had ever had with Jack, caring and unhurried, without work, or the Rift, or even Jack’s own guilty conscience hanging over them. Jack’s skin seemed electrified under Ianto’s hands, every touch making Jack gasp or keen with desire. He whispered words of love in Ianto’s ear, both in English and his own strange language, and Ianto whispered back in Welsh, just so he could hear Jack laugh.

The crash, when it came, was shockingly quick. Jack collapsed on the bed just before sunset as though someone had flipped off his switch, his limbs sprawled bonelessly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, his voice slow and languid. 

“It’s okay,” Ianto soothed. “We’ve been at it for hours.”

Jack chuckled. “That was fun. We should move here so we can get it all the time.”

“Sorry, still illegal unless you’re a professor of neuropharmacology.”

“Damn,” Jack said. “Although, have you ever thought about getting your degree?”

“I’ll look into it,” Ianto said drily.

Jack was quiet for a long moment, and Ianto thought he’d fallen asleep, when he spoke again.

“I realized something else,” he said. “I do love you, Ianto.” 

“I love you, too,” Ianto said, but Jack really was asleep, this time.

++++

Ianto woke with the daylight, and his first thought was of Jack. He turned to see Jack still stretched out as he’d fallen the night before, his face relaxed in sleep. Ianto felt like weeping with relief. 

No nightmares. The first night in months that Jack had slept through.

Ianto didn’t want to touch Jack, didn’t want to move, for fear of breaking the spell. But Jack must have heard the change in his breathing and opened his eyes. He smiled wearily, but for Ianto it was more dazzling than the rising sun.

“Are you okay?” Ianto asked.

“I think I am,” Jack said.

“Do you remember…”

“Everything. It wasn’t anything I would have predicted, or even what I’d feared, but I am glad I know it now. It explains… so much. But I think… I think I can deal with it now.”

“We can still stay on,” Ianto said. “If you think some more sessions with Gilda would help you.”

“I think they might,” Jack agreed. “She’s a very wise woman.”

Ianto pushed himself up. “I’ll go start breakfast,” he said.

Jack entered the kitchen wearing only his robe and sat at the table, watching Ianto as he fried some eggs at the stove. “I did mean one thing I said yesterday,” he said.

“That you love me?” Ianto said. “Yes, Jack, I never doubted it.”

“Well, that, too, of course,” Jack conceded. “But I meant it when I said we shouldn’t go back.”

Ianto didn’t say anything, didn’t even turn, only busied himself with the pan.

“Did you hear what I said?” Jack pressed.

Ianto took the pan off the fire and turned with his arms crossed. “I heard you,” he said. “I just don’t want to think about it until you mean it for sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Let the drugs wear off completely,” Ianto said. “And then we’ll talk.”

Jack nodded. “We’ll talk.”

++++

Jack resumed his sessions with Gilda the next day, but their tone had entirely changed. He still turned to Ianto when his recollections made him anxious, but now he concentrated on analyzing himself. Gilda guided him gently in ways to integrate his new knowledge about himself with what he was now.

The dreams weren’t gone for good, not entirely, but their violence was reduced, and Jack could interpret them as symbolic of his past. The dream of John Frobisher killing his family recalled the Millennium murders at Torchwood. Clem stood in for Riada, and Jack’s “grandson” for Gray; each dream an opportunity to contend with his memory and emotions.

Ianto knew it would still take him time for him to heal, but there was progress. He could see it.

Jack waited three days before again raising the issue of leaving Torchwood, this time in session with Gilda. 

“It would be a big change for you,” she said, noncommittally. 

“I’ve been a soldier for hundreds of years,” Jack said. “Every soldier dreams of home. I know it won’t be forever, but it can be for a little while. Maybe as long as I need.”

“What would this home be like?”

Jack smiled as though at a happy memory. “Well, on Earth,” he said, and Ianto marveled at how that wasn’t necessarily a given anymore. 

“A little house,” Jack went on. “Maybe near the water. Comfortable furniture, a pretty view. A garden. And… someone with me.” Jack turned hopefully to Ianto.

And for the first time in the sessions, Gilda addressed Ianto directly. “How do you feel about that?”

“Well, I’m keeping my own name,” Ianto said. “And I’d still want to work outside the home.”

Jack laughed. “Just not at Torchwood,” he said.

“No,” Ianto agreed. “Not Torchwood.”

++++

They did some traveling after leaving Gebirgshaus, a proper holiday in Paris and London, then moved into a two-bedroom near Roath Park that Gwen had bird-dogged for them. Ianto had been surprised by how well she’d taken the news of their resignation, but then, she’d been running Torchwood herself for awhile now.

Gwen insisted on keeping them on as “advisors,” a position which consisted of frequent phone calls to Jack to identify artifacts and the occasional alien which came through the Rift, and stopping round for tea twice a week. On days when Jack was particularly bored he might run by the Hub to talk over the latest news, or assist Clem in tweaking one of his projects, but he never stayed long. Ianto never went, but he still cashed the checks.

Jack kept the house in repair, and planted roses and ivy in the garden. Ianto got a part-time job in the administration office at University of Wales, joking that he didn’t want to be a “kept man.” Jack went to therapy sessions with a retired UNIT psychologist once a week, and Ianto expected there was more swapping of stories than actual treatment, but they seemed to be helpful. The nightmares were less frequent, at any rate.

Gwen had a baby girl in the autumn, and they told everyone she had Gwen’s looks and Rhys’s temperament, lucky kid, instead of the other way around. They named her Elwyn, after Gwen’s grandmother. Ianto expected her to be spoiled rotten by “Uncle Jack.”

They didn’t talk much about the future, except in vague, far-off terms, although Jack was teaching him to speak galactic standard, “just in case.” Ianto knew Jack would one day want to return to the infinite vastness of time and space, maybe with the Doctor, if he could. But he would wait until Ianto was ready. 

He had nothing but time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read and made it this far. This is an older story, written in a feverish rage after Children of Earth, so I hope you like it. Thanks!


End file.
